


Poetic License

by Pony Girl (Jackjunkie)



Category: Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman
Genre: F/M, Romance, Vignette, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackjunkie/pseuds/Pony%20Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Mike and Sully spend a Shakespearean evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetic License

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Ride 'Em, Cowboy! #2

Dr. Mike and Sully sat at the table, the volume of Shakespeare open between them. The children were tucked in bed, the day’s chores were done, and the peace of night had settled around them. A small pool of light cast by the lamp enclosed the two of them in a cozy haven. For this brief time they could forget the rest of the world and focus on each other.

Dr. Mike enjoyed these evenings of quiet companionship. Ever since Sully had discovered Wordsworth’s poems in the library, he had developed a growing interest in poetry—which perhaps wasn’t to be considered unusual in someone called Byron. Perhaps he was aptly named after all.

Although Mr. Wordsworth was a bit too forward for her taste, Michaela admitted she wasn’t wholly averse to some of the other romantic selections—Shakespeare’s love sonnets, for example. From them they had turned naturally to the plays, and were now sampling _Romeo and Juliet_.

“And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,” Michaela quoted softly. She held up her left hand, palm facing Sully, and he matched it with his right.

At his touch, she felt the familiar thrill course through her which she always felt upon contact with this man. He touched her hand lightly for just an instant, pulled away briefly, as one might pull back from a source of heat, then pressed his palm more firmly against hers.

He held it there a moment and she could feel the warmth radiating from those strong fingers. Then he began to slip his hand around hers, slowly, his thumb brushing across her palm as his fingers caressed the back of hers. He drew them leisurely down the length of her fingers and stroked the back of her hand, barely touching it, in a series of languorous circles. Eventually, he continued around, his fingers curling around her thumb, lightly brushing down to her wrist and back up again. It was as though he wanted to explore every part of her hand, every curve, every detail, and commit each discovery to memory.

His thumb touched hers, slid softly down it, entwined around it, before his hand opened and he brought it up over the tips of her now trembling fingers and back down into its original position, pressed against her palm. He enlaced his fingers through hers and, clasping her hand, he drew it slowly toward his lips as he uttered his next line.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” So saying, he pressed his lips against her hand.

During this entire proceeding, Michaela’s breathing had become shallower and quicker. She was almost panting as she watched Sully kiss her hand. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

He looked up at her, waiting. She tried to give herself a mental shake and somehow came up with the next line.

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Sully responded. Holding her hand close to his breast, he leaned forward till his face was nearly touching hers and whispered, “They pray.”

Their lips met in a kiss. The room dissolved around Michaela. The chair, the table, the floor beneath her feet—none of them seemed to hold substance for her. She was aware only of Sully and of herself. She had a dim perception of what a moth at a candle flame must feel like—afraid of being burned, but unable to resist. No, not unable—rather, not in the least wanting to resist.

They parted at last and Michaela struggled to catch her breath as the room settled back into place around her. She could feel Sully’s heartbeat beneath her hand, still clasped against his chest. She wondered if hers was racing that fast, and thought it very likely.

“I never dreamed Shakespeare could be so… stimulating,” she observed.

Sully smiled. “Wait till we get to _The Taming of the Shrew_ ,” he said and cut off her indignant response with another kiss.

THE END


End file.
